


Mistakes

by Ariana (Ariana_El)



Series: The House of Fëanor chronicles [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Lake Mithrim, feanorian brotherly relationships, sequel to Reconciliation, the Noldor after reuniting, Ósanwe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: Though Maedhros is back and the Noldor are united again,  things don't always go smoothly.The series is just to help with chronology, most of the stories can stand alone, this one included.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just like 'Reconciliation' ended in late Autumn, this story takes place in early Spring one and half a year later. It is not necessary to know 'Reconciliation', though I use OC characters I introduced there (my healer, Alcarino, and Maedhros's friend, Vorindon)
> 
> My stories are put in a series only to help the readers with chronological order. It is not necessary to know them all.
> 
> ShoSean, you asked for the translation of this one, so here you are :)

Metallic sound of steel colliding against steel was something that recently started to please Maedhros again. A year of exercises allowed him to regain his strength, though his brothers claimed he was still too thin and his face was still sharp, even if his cheeks were no longer so hollow. There was not a single thing a son of Feanor could not learn, Curufin had told him once and Maedhros took it for all it was. He did his best to prove to the others, but also to himself that he was indeed able to master everything with his left hand. Now it was all he had, after all.

Vorindon never refused practicing with him whenever his brothers were busy. Right now Caranthir was visiting the Sindar living nearby, Celegorm and Curufin had left for a hunt and were taking their time. Amras was on the eastern hills, patrolling them. They wanted the roads to be safe as they planned to move East with the first signs of Spring. Maglor was paying Finrod a visit at the other side of the lake, keeping the family contacts intact.

Maedhros could not yet say he was content with his abilities, but he was no longer defenceless, like he was the previous Spring, when picking a sword meant learning from start, full of frustration and embarrassment, but also of determination. He was rarely able to disarm his opponent, but then he was facing the best.

                Screaming and terror that flooded him caught him off guard. Maedhros let his defences down, completely surprised, and he took a step back as if he was hit, which let Vorindon stop his attack in time. But the eldest son of Feanor did not see his friend standing above him, worried. There was another image before his eyes, there were other sensations than a cramp in his fingers, tight around the sword grip.

Pain. Fear. Blood spilled on the thin layer of snow. Terror. A pull, a moan. Smell of blood, evil and death.

And scream. Blind, terrified scream. _‘Maitimo, help!’_

“Nelyafinwe? What’s going on?”

_‘Caught. Nelyo, help! Killed. Taking away. Nelyo!’_

The image disappeared and the buzzing in his ears stopped. Maedhros shook his head and realised in astonishment that he was kneeling at the yard in front of their house and his sword was lying on the ground next to him. His brothers knew osanwe was a bad idea, that he had been alone for too long and he had withdrawn too deep to accept this form of communication, even with the one closest to him. He was trying to seek for his brothers’ feas from time to time, but he didn’t expect any of them to invade him so forcefully.

And then he fully realised what he had just seen and he jumped on his feet, his sword in his grasp. Vorindon watched him in alarm; he sheathed his sword, but he remained tensed as he could sense his commander’s emotions.

“Pityo has fallen into a trap,” Maedhros spat out. “Gather our men, we’re leaving at once,” he hissed. “I want to have as many riders as you can get in a quarter,” he ordered and rushed into the house, without even looking at his second-in-command.

As soon as he was alone, he took a deep breath and reached for his youngest brother; something he had not done in many, many years.

_‘Pityo, where? Pityo?’_

_‘Maitimo...’_

This time his brother’s presence was more subtle; less emotions, more images entwined with pain. The fear was lurking at the edges, the whole image reeked of it, but it was not so intense, so Maedhros focused on the scenery.

_‘I’m coming. Hold on. I’m coming.’_

The eldest son of Feanor broke the contact as soon as he could. Osanwe cost him too much and right now he could not waste his time to stand motionless; this way of communication paralysed him. He hurried to prepare for the journey, knowing Vorindon would provide him with a horse.

Just like he ordered, the elves were waiting for him at the yard and on the road, as there was too little place for all of them. Maedhros explained in a few words what had happened and where they were going, then he mounted his horse and led the riders to the gate. They were travelling light as speed was of great importance. Amras had told him plain enough where they were when they fell into a trap. Aside from training and making plans about the future, Maedhros had spent some time studying the nearby terrains, so he knew where to go.

The road by the lakeshore was easy and allowed them to ride fast. Maedhros tangled the reins around the saddlebow and closed his eyes.

_‘Makalaure. Makalaure. Answer me.’_

_‘Maitimo?’_ Maglor radiated with surprise and a bit of joy, but mostly with anxiety. Maedhros could sense his awaiting, his questions surrounding him, demanding answers. Suppressing the urge to shut his mind, Maedhros passed the most important news, but when Maglor tried to keep the bond between their minds, he withdrew quickly.

One order and his men urged their horses to gallop.

xxx

The time passed slowly, counted only by constant shaking, but the Enemy’s servants were moving fast, terribly fast. Amras could feel the metallic taste of blood, the only liquid in his dried mouth. The inner part of his lip was swollen from constant biting to suppress screams. He tried in vain to protect his broken leg, but every time his boot collided with a stone or a root, a cry threatened to escape his throat. His twisted arms, by which the orcs held him, were blissfully numb, but Amras was too terrified to close his eyes even for a moment. He studied the road they were taking East, trying to memorize it. He knew these lands, but this knowledge was of no use right now. Alone, with a broken leg, and more importantly without any weapon or a horse, he had no chance to escape; even water, where he would be able swim, could not guarantee his success.

Remembering his fallen friends and the fate of Rimpalote, Amras barely managed to fight back nausea. He almost screamed when he hit a stone with his back and then his leg; the orcs paid no attention how they carried him. The only difference was that they changed frequently, as the Noldo was big and heavy for them.

More blood moistened his lips.

Suddenly the orcs stopped and tossed their prisoner on the ground. A violent shake made him let out a sigh, but then an orc moved his arms forward and tied his hands tightly. Amras exhaled deeply, but the relief from changing position was brief; as soon as the blood flowed freely in his veins, his muscles started burning. _Don’t scream. Dontdontdontdont....._

Pulled straight up with one movement, Amras moaned quietly and bit his lips, pressing his elbows to his sides. The dawn was coming, the orcs were surely searching for a shelter to wait through the day, but for a moment Amras feared they would continue dragging him forward.

No such thing happened. An orc pushed some stinky scrap of food into his tied hands and pulled them up to his face. The elf turned away in disgust, but then the creature forced the food down his throat.

There was no force on Arda that would make him swallow it. Amras jerked and pushed the enemy away. His empty stomach cramped and the elf curled in on himself, trying to immobilise his ribs, bruised violently when he was caught.

The first lash fell on his back. Amras froze, only his stomach was still cramping painfully.

“What? Don’t you like our food?” growled the orc standing over him. “You’ve already forgotten, ah? You will beg for a tiniest scrap later.”

“Forg...” repeated Amras in a whisper and he froze when he realised who was he taken for. It dawned on him where he was about to be taken. Now he could see the excitement of the orcs, clearly pleased with the prospect of the reward for bringing back the prisoner that had once escaped Angband.

 _‘Maitimo!’_ Amras closed his eyes, trying to call for his brother, still half surprised he had even managed to connect with him.

Maedhros replied with his steady presence that calmed him down a bit. Amras passed him where they stopped, but the only response he got was a brief reassurance that help was on its way. Amras tried to keep the bond open for longer, but Maedhros backed off, his long forgotten presence disappeared.

A kick in the stomach brought him back to reality. Amras fell heavily on the ground and moved his arms up in an attempt to protect his head; the rotten food slipped from his fingers and the whip that meant to hit his face left a bloody line on his forearm instead.

“You’ll regret turning down our hospitality,” hissed some other oppressor. “You’ll beg us,” he mumbled with his mouth full, then bit with delight in the piece of fresh meat he was holding.

All Amras managed to do in response was to throw up and move away a bit. He was trying to crawl as far away from the orcs as he could, but a heavy boot placed on his broken leg pinned him to the ground and left him breathless. Amras’s scream echoed far before he bit his teeth in his sleeve in a desperate attempt to compose himself.

Clearly the orcs thought he was trying to free his hands, as they started hitting and kicking him. Amras curled, trying to protect his wounded leg, but once they spotted his weak spot, that was already a lost case. All he could do was to clench his teeth and shut his eyes, not wishing to give them more satisfaction than they already had with an elf at their feet.

At last they left him alone, sore and dirty. His shirt, torn and wet from his sweat and blood, quickly became cold and the ground was chilly. The orcs had taken his cloak and jacket and they had torn his tunic. Amras was glad he had managed to slip his ring from his finger, because otherwise who knew if they would not have cut his finger off, like they had done with beads in his hair. But now that was the smallest of his problems, as he laid with his face mercifully hidden in his arms and prayed for their stop to be as long as possible. Maedhros had promised to get him.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The horses sensed something and became anxious. Maedhros ordered to slow down and the archers kept their bows ready. They were half expecting a trap, even if there was little space for one among the trees.

Like many others, Vorindon jumped off his saddle. He remained at Maedhros’s right side, ready to protect his commander where he could still be vulnerable. The horses were snorting, even as the riders kept them close. Everyone was silent until someone made a terrified cry.

Blood. There were red stains and small pools of dried blood on the snow still laying in the bumps of the ground and between the roots. The bloody remains of the horses created a terrifying sight, but the elves focused mostly on the three bodies laying among the fallen orcs. One thing was clear – Amras was not among the dead, but Maedhros found his red braids laying by the horse bones.

A few of the Noldor took care of the dead elves without waiting for an order and Vorindon followed his commander. It was easy to determine that they had fallen in the battle and their bodies were left in peace. That could not be said about the horses; the remains stood witness to the terrifying feast the orcs had had. Someone commented on that as he was covering one of the bodies with a cloak; there was relief in his voice that their fallen kin were spared such undignified end.

 “Practical. The orcs. They left the dead when they had one elf alive,” said Maedhros and Vorindon felt his heart freeze. “They ate the horses and took their prisoner.” His barely contained fury made it impossible to look him in the eye.

“What do we do?” Vorindon took upon himself the task of voicing the question many wished to ask. He feared what would happen once Maedhros lost control. He could see and sense his anger, but he could not tread his thoughts and guess his next orders.

“Pick five men, they’ll take the bodies back to our settlement,” commanded Maedhros shortly. “The rest goes with me.”

Vorindon left him for a moment to pass the orders. Among the five going back he placed one that he knew was close friends with one of the fallen. The Noldo tried to oppose, but he ceased once reminded that the most important thing now was to get to Amras in time. There was no time for pointless discussions. The young elf just hung his head and knelt by his friend, close to tears.

The body of the elf from Finrod’s host was a nuisance. The elf befriended Amras’s scouts the previous Summer when they all went South to explore the lands, and such mixed patrols had been patrolling the nearby grounds since then. But right now Vorindon didn’t want to bother Maedhros and just ordered that all the bodies be taken back together.

“We are ready,” he said a moment later as he approached his commander, but he realised he wasn’t heard.

Maedhros stood with his hand clenched on his saddlebow, just like he had done a few times earlier. He looked focused and seemed to be far away, indifferent to the surroundings. This time too he stood like that for a moment, then shook his head as if he was splashed with water. He looked vigilantly around and met Vorindon’s inquiring gaze.

“He’s still alive,” he said so quietly his second-in-command barely heard him. “Let’s go,” he ordered loudly and swiftly mounted his horse. The elves followed the visible trail the orcs had left.

xxx

The hours passed slowly. Amras curled and wished for the sun to come and force the orcs to wait till dusk with their journey. The day, however, remained grim and foggy and Maedhros had not got in touch again despite Amras’s attempts. Not that he had anything new to pass, but he would have been grateful for even a single word, some reassurance that they were coming.

If the orc that had tried to feed him brought him some water or any other drink, Amras would have accepted it. His throat was raw and he had an awful aftertaste in his mouth. He hoped in vain that laying motionless would allow him to rest a bit, but his leg hurt regardless to the position he took and his movements attracted his guards. No matter how much he tried to protect his broken leg, their kicks always hit the most vulnerable spots.

It was way past midday when the guards bored with checking how much it took to make their prisoner scream again. They left him alone and hid from the sun.

Amras tried calling Maedhros again, but to no avail. So as his brother did not respond, the youngest son of Fëanor decided to act. His bound hands were numb, but if he just managed to crawl away a bit... The orcs were motionless, including the guards. If only he could manage to crawl away from the camp and hide somewhere, perhaps he could manage to free his hands. If he could find something to lean on, perhaps he could even walk... And if not, the orcs would still waste time to search for him and allow his brother to come closer.

The elf turned carefully on his belly. Moving in the way that his wounded leg would not get trapped proved to be challenging, but he somehow managed to elevate it and put it on his good one. Slowly, inch by inch, trying to be as quiet as possible, he moved away from his sleeping kidnappers, grateful that there was no snow around; he would have left a track like a wounded animal. There were many caves around and Amras knew these lands well enough to know he could find a suitable hiding place, once he managed to get away.

Moving required more effort than he had anticipated. Before he passed the sleeping guards, a cramp forced him to make a break. He clenched his teeth not to moan, not now...

He screamed.

A heavy boot pressed his legs together and Amras saw black spots dancing before his eyes. He choked on his scream as he was grabbed by the legs and dragged back.

“Where are you going, little maggot?” The orc’s deformed face was suddenly very close and Amras realised he had made a mistake. They must have been watching his escape attempt from quite some time.

Desperate as he was, Amras jerked and reached for the orc’s belt. If only he could grab the knife...

The orc hit him with the cudgel he was holding and any further attempts vanished in the darkness.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

They rode without a moment of break. Vorindon did not leave his commander even for a moment, passing his orders to the others. He watched Maedhros discreetly, anxious and uncertain what to expect. It was the first time Maedhros was leading a scouting party with one goal only – to kill. Vorindon saw that in his flaming eyes, in his tensed shoulders and fingers clenching on the sword. The Enemy had struck where it hurt most. He got his brother, let alone the youngest one. For Amras Maedhros was even ready to open to osanwe. Vorindon had seen him freezing in his saddle with his eyes closed, while his horse kept the pace of the others. At first Maedhros would share what he had learned, but when he lost contact with his brother, he gave them only one command.

Go on.

They rode into the orcs’ camp with in last moments of the grim day. Vorindon had promised himself not to leave his commander’s side, unsure if he would be able to manage the fight, but he just wasn’t able to keep up.

Maedhros used the first impact to trample the nearest orcs, but then he jumped off his saddle and charged forward. The steel in his hand flashed as he moved and the orcs scattered around, but to no avail. Maedhros’s sword reached them one by one and those who managed to flee were slain by the other Noldor.

 Vorindon spotted the elf thrown between the stones and made his way towards him. He beheaded the orc that was leaning over Amras with a knife in his hand while the Noldo covering him slain the other. Vorindon looked at Maedhros, but he seemed to be occupied with fighting, if one could call so the slaughter he made. And, unlike his brother, he certainly did not need any help.

Amras was alive, this much Vorindon noticed as soon as he made sure someone was covering his back and he could take care of the prisoner. The young lord looked awful with his bloodied face hidden between his arms, stretched above his head and tied. He was unconscious and did not react to untying him nor to lowering his arms. Vorindon made sure he would not choke on his own blood and moved him carefully to his side, then glanced back at Maedhros.

“Nelyafinwe, here!” he called as he saw his commander looking vigilantly around, even as he was standing among the corpses of the orcs and his Noldor were slaying the last of the escaping enemies.

There was something in Maedhros’s eyes as he looked at him that Vorindon regretted calling his old childhood friend by his name. Maedhros approached them quickly. His movements were fluent and he was still searching for danger. If he seemed imposing to the elves, he must have been a terrifying sight for the orcs.

“Is he alive?” he asked shortly, casting an examining look on his brother; unlike the others, he did not lower his sword.

“He is,” nodded Vorindon, tracing his fingers on Amras’s forehead up to the still bleeding cut on his temple. “My lord,” he added hesitantly; Maedhros was a puzzle to him right now. “I am going to need some help to tend to him,” he suggested uncertainly. He needed to examine Amras closer to assess all the damage, but he could easily see the bloody lashes on his back and his swollen arms.

“Then find yourself someone who has two hands,” ordered Maedhros. He knelt for a moment and brushed his fingers against his brother’s cheek, then jumped back on his feet and looked around his elves. “Gather all the belongings of our elves, leave the rest. Vorindon, tend only what needs to be tended now. We’re leaving. The sooner we’re back, the better.”

For the first time since their meeting after Maedhros’s rescue Vorindon felt so intimidated that he did not dare to ask if he was going to stay by his brother’s side. Amras looked pitiful and he would surely appreciate that, provided that they managed to wake him at all.

His shirt was just a bloodied rag, but the youngest son of Feanor didn’t even stir as Vorindon touched his arms and torso. He examined all the cuts and bruises, but decided they were not life-threatening and could wait. Amras’s swollen shoulders caught his attention.

“If you hold him still, I will set his arms while he’s still unconscious,” said Aphedir above him. He crouched next to Vorindon and hissed angrily. “It will get worse later.”

“Lord Nelyafinwe wished us to hurry,” muttered Vorindon quietly, but he elevated the unconscious elf and immobilised him. Aphedir was right, it was best to deal with the dislocated shoulders right now; Maedhros would have to wait a moment longer.

Many of the elves looked with sympathy as Amras screamed, but Vorindon focused on keeping the wounded in place. He had not found any deep wound that could make him bleed to death, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have overlooked something.

“No, no, n-no....” moaned Amras hoarsely and his breath quickened as he shivered.

“The other one,” ordered Aphedir. “Let’s be done with it.”

Amras tried weakly to break free, moaning and breathing spasmodically when Vorindon shifted under him to make Aphedir some space. The wounded was shaking more and more violently and he tried to grasp something with the fingers of his already fixed arm, even if he could not lift it .Vorindon tried to hush him, but with no success.

“He won’t calm down unless he can see you,” spoke Maedhros suddenly over them. “Wash his eyes and ready him for travelling. And hurry up!” he rushed them impatiently and left before Vorindon had a chance to reply.

Just like he was told, he damped a piece of dressings and pressed it to the cut on Amras’s temple, then wiped his eyes until he softened the dried blood. The youngest son of Feanor froze motionless, and when he finally was able, he opened his eyes and blinked.

“It’s us, Pityafinwe,” spoke Vorindon calmly, but as he saw the unfocused gaze, he stopped hoping he would be understood. “You are safe,” he promised and pressed his waterskin to the wounded elf’s lips.

Amras drank greedily as soon as he felt water in his mouth, as if afraid it would be taken away. Vorindon didn’t have the heart to stop him, so he just made sure he would not choke.

“Let’s fix the other,” said Aphedir as Vorindon put the empty skin away. “There’s no point in waiting.”

 _‘And it is unwise to test the lord’s patience,’_ added Vorindon silently and nodded. There was no point in telling Amras what they were about to do, so he just grabbed him firmly.

Amras cried shortly before he bit back his lip in a desperate attempt to compose himself. The next thing he did was to throw up all the water he had just drunk. He tried to curl on his side, but when Aphedir grabbed his legs, he choked and went limp.

“Leave the leg.” Maedhros stopped them before they checked what caused such a violent reaction. “It’s not bleeding. Just cover him and put him on a horse.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Amras is safe. What do you think of Maedhros here? He was quite a challenge.


	4. Chapter 4

They rode quickly and in silence. Maedhros could feel Vorindon’s gaze that seemed to be burning a hole in his back, but he did not intend to slow down. They were still too close to the orcs’ camp, the battlefield, the corpses and a potential trap. Amras was under their care, free, but not yet taken far enough from danger. That nightmarish scenario with negotiations turning into a slaughter could still repeat itself.

The short dusk turned into a night. The wind coming from the north chased some of the clouds and stars appeared on the sky. The waxing crescent of the moon shone on the part of the clear shy and brightened their way with the silver light. But with the wind came the chill; the night reminded them that Spring was yet to come, even though the sunny days brought the first glimpses of it.

“I think we should stop,” said finally the elf that was holding Amras. “I can’t wake him, nor warm him up,” he rode closer to Maedhros; the wounded was limp in his grasp. “I’m worried.”

“The horses will need some rest,” remarked Vorindon. “We won’t make it back home without a stop.”

Maedhros would prefer to wait till morning, but he had to agree with his subjects. His brother looked unwell and the horses needed to rest.

They rode for a while until they spotted a place between the rocks that provided some shelter from the wind. Soon Amras was placed by a small fire, covered with second cloak. Maedhros wandered around at first, appointing the guards, but as he made sure they could not be caught by surprise, he sat by his brother. He brushed his damp hair away and wiped his forehead, trying to keep his own emotions at bay. Amras moaned and curled under the cloaks. He must have realised his hands were free, because he tried to rise. Maedhros put an arm around him and helped him sit up.  
“It’s alright, Ambarussa, it’s alright,” he leaned and whispered to his brother’s ear, but Amras started struggling. Surprised, Maedhros loosened his grip.

“No! Nonono nnooo!” Amras choked and leaned to the side, but his brother’s steady arm kept him upright. “Not you, not you, not you!”

“Pityo!” Maedhros shook off the surprise and grabbed his brother’s chilly hand. “It’s alright, you’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. Nor me,” he added stiffly.

Amras opened his eyes and looked at the elves around them. He pressed his hands to his stomach and moved closer.

“Maitimo...” he rasped and the next thing Maedhros noticed was Amras’s wet cheek on his neck as his brother clang to him.

Vorindon brought a mug of a hot brew and a bag with dressings. Once Amras drank it all, he removed the cloaks and took care of the lashes on his arms. Then he pulled up the torn shirt to tend to his back.

Maedhros helped as much as he could, but mostly he just kept his brother in place, trying to calm him and himself. If his youngest brother wasn’t so close, he would not have restrained his fury. _Amras. Safe. You’ve got him. Now guard him_. Maedhros remembered the teary child on the shores, whom he promised to stay together and whom he abandoned soon after for long years. Now Amras seemed to be equally defenceless, even if he was trying to bear the tending without complains. He objected only when Vorindon covered him back and touched his injured leg.

“Don’t,” he asked quietly without opening his eyes. “It’s broken, leave it.”

“I’ll just secure it,” promised Vorindon. “The less you move it, the better.”

He did his best to be gentle, but before he was finished, Amras was shivering again and his hand clenched on Maedhros’s. He slumped and leaned his head on his brother’s thigh, trapping Maedhros under him.

“Is it any better?” asked Maedhros more calmly, adjusting the wet poultice on his brother’s forehead.

“Mmmm,” muttered Amras unconvincingly, trying to find more comfortable position without moving his leg.

“Try to get some sleep, we’ll stay here for a while. Then we ride back home,” said Maedhros.

“Mmm...” Amras tried to focus his gaze on him, but he just winced and closed his eyes again. “It’s far...”

“I’m afraid you will have to bear it. Rest now. I’m here if you need me.”

The Noldor used the stop to rest a bit and get some sleep. A few were still talking quietly, but most laid down to sleep after a small meal. Maedhros envied them. He sat by his brother, checking from time to time if he wasn’t cold or more feverish, but he would not be able to lie down and close his eyes, just like he could not relax his tensed muscles in his neck and shoulders.

Amras seemed to be asleep for some time, as he went utterly quiet and his hand loosened its grip on his brother’s sleeve and fell limp, so Maedhros jerked when Amras shivered suddenly and moaned softly. He shifted and rested his warm cheek on Maedhros’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Maitimo.” he muttered quietly.

“Valar, what for?” Maedhros looked at him in disbelief; another wave of fury froze his heart.

“I couldn’t...” Amras stopped, ashamed.

“There is nothing to apologise for.” The eldest son if Feanor leaned and whispered to his brother’s ear; there was no need for others to hear them. “Don’t even try. Nothing of what happened was your fault, do you hear me?”

“I couldn’t.... wouldn’t bear...” choked Amras. “You did. Survived... I... not so strong. If you didn’t come in time... A knife... If only I had managed....”

Maedhros froze. He was trying hard not to think what would have happened if he had not come in time. If Amras had managed to do what he intended.... But despite this, his voice was calm and collected when he answered.

“If ever any of the Enemy’s servants were to lay their hands on me and drag me back to Angband, I would not hesitate for a single moment,” he hissed. “I am not going back there alive. Never, Pityo. And I will not let any of you end there.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was at least tiny bit more fluffy than the previous ones.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long.

Even though they didn’t wait till dawn and continued their journey back home as soon as the horses rested a bit, it was well past dusk when they finally arrived. Maedhros dismissed his elves and turned towards their house right from the gate. In his arms, Amras had been silent for quite some time, not even moaning, so his brother wanted to reach home as soon as possible.

Celegorm was waiting for them. His gaze rested on them and his lips became a thin line as he looked at his youngest brother.

“Let me,” he said shortly as Maedhros stopped by the doors. He reached his arms and carefully fished his brother out of Maedhros’s stiff grasp.

“What?” M’timo?” muttered the wounded deliriously.

“No, it’s Tyelko,” Celegorm corrected him with a supposedly light tone, but though he smiled, he looked like he was about to bare his teeth. “Maitimo has brought you home.”

“Take Pityo,” commanded Maedhros, still sitting in his saddle. “Careful with his leg.”

“Sure. Hush, you’re home,” murmured Celegorm to his youngest brother.

Amras clang weakly to his tunic as he carried him inside the house. Celegorm hoped the redhead could not feel his racing heart. Seeing the bloodied dressing on Amras’s face, he felt sick at the thought what might be under it. His brother’s uncovered eye was glancing around, unfocused, but what about the other...

Celegorm seated his brother on a chair in the room and forced him to let go of his clothes. The redhead had trouble to stay upright, co Celegorm didn’t dare to take his supporting hand away. Alcarino brought a basin with hot water and clean towels. Together they stripped Amras carefully off his cloak and the torn shirt. Celegorm damped a cloth and started with the bandages on his brother’s face, unable to wait any longer. The dressing was still wet and went off easily and Celegorm looked into his brother’s semi-conscious eyes. Both black pupils almost made the grey iris disappear. Both. The blood that had frightened Celegorm so came from the cut on the temple, encircled by a bruise.

“Alcarino...” Celegorm glanced restlessly at the healer.

“Yes, I can see. Look at me, Pityo,” ordered Alcarino.

Amras followed the healer’s instructions, muttering quietly in protest as Alcarino turned his head towards the light. For Celegorm it was enough to know that his brother hadn’t lost his eye. Still steadying Amras, he methodically washed out dirt and blood.

“I’m almost done,” promised Alcarino after a while. “I’ll give you something in a moment, just hold on,” he said reassuringly as Amras tried to escape his brother’s hand.

The healer moved away to prepare medicines and Celegorm used the free space to crouch by the chair. Alcarino gestured to him to keep his brother conscious, so the hunter kept asking ridiculous questions, forcing Amras to answer him.

“Pityo? Don’t sleep just yet, wait a bit,” asked Celegorm as his brother closed his eyes. “Lean forward, I want to wash your back.”

Amras obeyed and rested his cheek on his brother’s shoulder. Leaning, Celegorm started to wipe his back, careful not to put pressure on the cuts and bruises.

“They killed Flower,” muttered Amras suddenly. “Tyelko, they killed him... and ate him... right b-before my eyes... Like... like...” he obviously lacked a comparison, but Celegorm could feel his hot, raspy breath on his neck. “T-torn him t-to pieces... My Rimpalote...”

Celegorm caught himself caressing his brother’s back instead of finishing the washing. He tangled his fingers into Amras’s messy hair and only then did he realise what was amiss. Some of his brother’s braids were loose, some held together only because of the dried blood, but they all lacked the silver beads and they were cut on different lengths. Apparently the orcs found the jewellery as precious as Rimpalote, if he understood Amras’s mumbling correctly. They cut off the ends of his braids to get the trinkets. Celegorm chose not comment on that, musing grimly that perhaps he should be glad the orcs had cut the hair instead of pulling them off.

“Drink, Pityo.” Alcarino leaned suddenly over them, as the elder of the brothers was beginning to be uncomfortable in such position. “All of it.”

“Mmm...” Amras swallowed the mug’s contents without objections and leaned against his brother again. The two other elves exchanged glances over his lead.

“You’ll help me, Tyelko.”

xxx

Celegorm left Amras with Alcarino and went out. The healer’s commands helped him wield the fury he felt whenever he glanced at his youngest brother. Now that Amras was asleep, Celegorm would gladly learn what happened. Maedhros looked stiff and weary from such a long ride with little rest, but Celegorm doubted he would retire without checking on Amras.

The hunter emptied the basin from dirty water and carried it to the bathhouse they built by Curufin’s forge. He was surprised to find his two elder brothers there, but it seemed Maglor had managed to convince Maedhros to take a longer bath. Which also explained why none of them had come to ask about Amras, but Celegorm couldn’t blame them when he glanced at his eldest brother.

Maedhros looked less greyish than when Celegorm was taking Amras from him. He sat, leaning forwards and letting Maglor comb his hair lazily; a sign that he was truly tired. Still they both glanced up the moment Celegorm went in.

“Pityo?”

“Fast asleep,” replied the hunter, putting the basin down. “Alcarino is quite optimistic, the damage from that head blow is not too serious. And, Maitimo, he told me to ask you if you need anything,” he repeated the healer’s request, not bothering to think if Maedhros would feel offended.

“I don’t know,” muttered Maedhros lazily. “I’ll go to him later. Was Amras very restless?”

“Dead on his feet,” Celegorm shrugged. “He fell asleep before I carried him to his bed after he drank Alcarino’s herbs. But he was very upset about Rimpalote. He told me the orcs killed and ate him,” he said with disgust.

“Yes, I did see the remains,” nodded Maedhros grimly. “But that doesn’t surprise me, horse meat is a real treat. And it doesn’t taste bad.”

“Nelyo?!” Celegorm couldn’t hide his resentment at such a thoughtless remark.

Maedhros couldn’t care less. His keen eyes rested on his brother as he spoke.

“Believe me, it is good, even dry, with nothing else,” he said indifferently.

Celegorm winced. He knew what he had accidentally triggered, he knew well that empty tone his brother had whenever he spoke of his captivity. He could drop remarks like this with no warning.

“I managed to get some once, it was delicious comparing to what I was given and I was so hungry... and careless,” Maedhros continued, no longer looking at his brother, but staring at the wall. “Perhaps it was awful,” he admitted after a moment, “but then and there it tasted good. They caught me. Made sure I threw it all up.”

“Valar...” sighed Maglor, looking like he was going to be sick. He stopped combing his brother, the comb still tangled in the damp red hair.

Maedhros woke from his memories and looked at his brothers. He shook his head and untangled the comb.

“Forgive me,” he said, seeing his brothers’ expressions. “I am weary,” he admitted.

“Just please don’t repeat that around Amras,” suggested Celegorm, trying not to see the images in his head. “Go get some sleep, I’m going back to Pityo. Alcarino promised to stay till morning, just in case,” he added and left; they could easily talk about the rescue in the morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked the idea of Andband memories returning and being thrown into Maedhros' brothers like that, with no warning.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day and a half was one feverish dream. Whatever Alcarino gave him, it sent Amras to sleep for the night and most of the following day. He barely remembered the moments when he woke. Every time there was Celegorm or Caranthir sitting by him and forcing him to answer their questions he did not remember later. But they let him sleep and didn’t touch his leg, so Amras wasn’t about to complain.

The second day he felt well enough to sit up and eat a proper meal. Later Alcarino changed his dressings, but didn’t bother him for long. Before he left, he closed the curtains and Amras was grateful for the dimness. Despite Alcarino’s herbs, his head was still pounding, but it was bearable in peace and darkness. Amras was drifting half asleep, but as the doors opened, he glanced at them, fully awake.

“How’s your head?” asked Maedhros quietly. He was wearing a cloak as if he was about to leave, and he had a map and a leather tube in his arms.

“Usually better,” muttered Amras, but he dragged himself up to sit. “But at least I no longer see you in double,” he sent his brother a crooked smile.

“Good, because I want to show you something before I go to Nolofinwe.” Maedhros sat down on the bed, confirming Amras’s suspicions. He placed the map on his knees, one of those Amras had made the previous Summer when they had gone exploring Eastern lands.

“We divided the lands with Kano,” said Maedhros, pointing at the lines running through the terrains on the East. The uneven line left no doubts who drew it, but Amras swallowed the light remark about ruining his work that way when he noticed his own name.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“You will go south,” stated Maedhros, pointing at the right spot on the map.

Amras blinked and wiped away his hair from his face, then looked at his brother with offense and disbelief.

“You are sending me away,” he said bitterly. “I made a mistake, I wasn’t careful enough and you are sending me away like a child, far from danger.”

“Don’t be silly.” Maedhros shook his head, as if that thought had never crossed his mind. “I was caught because of far more stupid actions. But you said there are good hunting forests on the South, so we thought it a suitable place for you. Besides, we will need supplies,” he added, rolling the map to put it in the tube.

“It’s Morifinwe who enjoys trading, not me,” Amras reminded him. He closed his eyes and winced. Sitting and talking made his head hurt more.

“This the final decision. I am going to present it to the king.” Maedhros tossed the tube over his shoulder. “We’ll talk when I’m back. Now rest,” he smiled warmly and squeezed his brother’s hand, then stood up and left, though Amras was about to object.

The youngest son of Feanor sat upright and tossed the blanket from his knees. He placed his legs carefully on the floor and reached for crutches Alcarino had brought him. The healer said nothing about getting up, but Amras was not going to just let Maedhros leave like that and pass the arrangements to the king.

He pushed himself up on his good leg, but as soon as he leaned on the crutches, he hissed, because his arms hurt more than he anticipated. He made two unsteady steps, but then his arms could no longer support his weight and slipped from the crutches. He fell.

His cheeks burned from humiliation and embarrassment way more than his arms and leg hurt. Amras sat and leaned against the bed. There was no way he could catch up with Maedhros, who was clearly in a hurry and had no time to wait for his youngest brother. Was he really so eager to forget the time of his own weakness that he didn’t even slow his pace? Yes, they began their preparations for travelling East when the Spring came, but those few more days would not make any difference.

Furious, Amras waited a moment, grateful that his brother closed the doors behind him and no one would see him like this from the corridor. He dragged himself back to bed, weak and sore, because moving reminded him about all the cuts and bruises he could ignore as he laid. He left the crutches on the floor and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep through the pounding in his head.

***

Walking quickly proved to be slow, tiring and painful. Though Amras learned to use the crutches quite quickly, his arms were still bothering him and he had to be careful, or else he would risk falling down again. Alcarino warned him to limit walking for a week or two and let his shoulders heal, but Amras had too much to do.

He wasn’t just going to swallow such humiliation. Maedhros could be the eldest and he was the one who took upon himself all the arrangements with Fingolfin, but during their private councils they could all express their opinions. But this time his brothers changed the arrangements at last moment, without even waiting for him to feel well enough to join them.

But firstly, there was a grim responsibility waiting for him – talking to the families of his fallen comrades. Amras had no doubts they already knew, but he felt he owed them to pass the news personally. He knew he survived only because he was mistaken for Maedhros. He was trying not to remember the filthy hands on him and the pain they inflicted, nor his fear when he thought Maedhros would not get him in time and later, when he thought the enemy managed to capture his brother again. He had no doubts nothing would have changed, but he couldn’t help but muse what if he hadn’t fallen off his horse, hadn’t broken his leg, hadn’t...

Amras sighed and got up from his chair, pleased that at least the pounding in his head stopped. He grabbed his crutches and limped to the doors.

***

The camp was buzzing with life. With each Spring day the preparations went forward. The yards were full of wagons that were going to transport their belongings. Caranthir expected the first groups to be ready within a few days. Even though there was no immediate reason to rush, he knew Maedhros wished to go East as soon as possible. It was indeed getting crowded by the lake.

As reluctant as he was, Caranthir had to admit that Maedhros’s decision about giving up the crown was showing positive results. Of course, there were still groups regarding the sons of Feanor and their elves with reluctance, but the majority welcomed the reconciliation with relief. Many families were brought together after long years of separation and they moved to the southern shore of the lake. Additionally, some elves from Finrod’s host liked the lands on the South and as their prince was going to stay in the North, they moved to go with the sons of Feanor.

Caranthir supervised the latest delivery from the Sindar, then went to the forge to pass Curufin their orders. The raw material they brought was of good quality, but it was less than it should have and it would be best for Curufin to decide what to do with it.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting you in here,” he commented at the doorstep as he saw his youngest brother.

Amras was sitting on a chest by the door, watching Curufin with a bored expression he didn’t even bother to conceal. He kept his leg outstretched and looked far from comfortable.

“They tore off the hook from my scabbard,” he replied indifferently. “I can’t repair it myself right now.”

Curufin snorted as if he doubted Amras could ever perform such a task. He didn’t stop working, but he seemed to be displeased with their company.

“Curvo, if you would, we have some stock to organise,” said Caranthir, heading straight to the point.

Curufin nodded and put the scabbard aside. Amras looked impatient and clearly displeased that his brother didn’t finish his work first. Caranthir had seen him earlier, limping around the camp with his hunters and he began to wonder why his brother was in such a hurry.

It took them a while before Curufin decided what to do with all the raw material, as the storages behind his forge were already full and some of it had to be transported elsewhere. When they finally returned to the workshop, Amras was still sitting there. He was so lost in thoughts, busy planning something, that he didn’t even grant his brothers a glance until Caranthir stood over him.

“Are you coming back home with me, or do you intend to sit here?”

Amras jerked and looked up. He kept his arms tightly crossed, resting on his lap.

“Curvo hasn’t finished yet,” he remarked. “I’ll wait.”

“I’ll bring it to you later,” offered Curufin. “It’s not like you need it right now anyway.”

“You overtaxed yourself, didn’t you,” Caranthir summed up, looking at his youngest brother. “Which one hurts more?”

“Left,” admitted Amras reluctantly, clearly not intending to move even for an inch. “I won’t be able to put any weight on it right now.”

Caranthir shook his head in disapproval, then put his arm around his brother and pulled him up from the chest. He took one of his crutches and slowly, step by step, they made their way to the house. He could see Amras’s right arm shaking with effort and once again Caranthir wondered what made him move so much, as it clearly served him ill.

Amras sat down on his bed with relief and pulled up his broken leg, but then he asked his brother to pass him a notebook and a quill. Undisturbed by the fact that he still had company, he started writing something down. He stopped only when his brother sat beside him and glanced at his notes with interest.

“Alright.” Caranthir crossed his arms and his keen eyes rested on Amras. “Care to tell me what are you up to?”

His youngest brother hesitated for a moment, then nodded. And answered.

 

 

 

 


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

 

What was intended to be a short visit, turned in fact in a series of arrangements concerning not only lands division, but also the safety. After the latest incident the sons of Feanor, as well as Fingolfin decided to increase patrols and at least make the enemy stay away from the nearest hills. Then Finrod insisted that they should all go together at the seaside, where Turgon was just beginning to set his city. When Turgon himself invited them, the sons of Feanor could hardly refuse. They really wanted to keep friendly relations not only with Fingolfin, but with their cousins as well, especially the most reluctant ones.

In the end almost three weeks passed before Maedhros and Maglor returned to their settlement. In the meantime the Spring blossomed. The trees around the lake turned green and first flowers appeared in the grass. At first the brothers didn’t realise what else had changed. They only stopped at one of the bigger places, surprised to see it empty. So far the wagons were stored there so tightly that they had to move the wagons from the edges to the nearest roads to get to the ones in the middle.

Right now only a third of the place was occupied, so it was hard not to notice the change. The free space allowed to manoeuvre the wagons freely and several elves were working by them, checking their state and replacing the damaged parts.

“I see you finally granted us with your presence.” Caranthir greeted his brothers. He was holding a long list he had been checking. “One could think you got weary of our company.”

“Yours?” laughed Maglor. “Never, little brother. It’s hard not to miss your hospitality.”

“What’s going on here?” asked Maedhros sharply, convinced that the change involved one of his brother’s insubordination. “Why are the wagons gone?”

“That?” Caranthir shrugged, but failed to conceal his mocking completely. “Pityo left two days ago. He took the wagons and his elves, took those of Findarato’s who wished to join them. And they went.”

“What? Where to?”

“Oh, worry not.” Caranthir was clearly having fun at their expense. At Maedhros’s expense. “He went exactly where you told him to, south. He promised to follow your orders to the last line.”

“But why so soon?” Maedhros stared at him, perplexed. Maglor seemed to be sharing his surprise, but Caranthir just smiled mockingly.

“I don’t know,” he snorted, but his tone suggested otherwise. “Have you considered the possibility that he’s just cross with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware the ending is a bit abrupt, but then I wanted the readers to share Maedhros's surprise.  
> Thank you for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think.


End file.
